Chuck, Carter, and Rosie Vs the Ultranationalists
by godfreyraphael
Summary: Chuck gets drawn into a secret war in Russia which is spreading into other places in the globe. With Carter and Rosie's help, can they stop the Ultranationalist menace?
1. Chapter 1

Ever since he discovered that a person's capacity to hold an Intersect was determined by a mere repetition of genes in his or her genetic code, Charles Irving Bartowski had scoured the globe for such individuals. So far, nobody possessed the extra genes that he had, but today, he found one such person—in Russia, of all places. And that was why he was in the city of Yekaterinburg, to somehow convince a person he didn't even know that his life was in danger from an organization practically unknown to the Russian public.

"Mr. Carmichael?" a voice asked.

Chuck turned around to face the source of the voice, and then he began to feel light-headed before the Intersect took over and display information about the man in front of him.

_Name: Trofim Alekseyevich Pavlov_. _Age: 27_. _Birthday: June 14, 1984_. _Birthplace: Yekaterinburg, Russia_. _Occupation: Lieutenant, KGB Border Guards_. _ULTRANATIONALIST_.

Chuck blinked furiously, trying to dispel the Intersect information. He felt the Governor send out a series of electrical pulses to calm his nervous system down. But nothing could calm him down from the fact that he had been blown by a KGB officer, who also happened to be an Ultranationalist, whatever that meant.

"It's time we had a talk, Mr. Carmichael," said Pavlov, pressing a pistol into Chuck's back.

"First, Mr. Pavlov, I would really love to talk," replied Chuck. "Second, there's no need for guns."

"We'll see about that," replied Pavlov.

Chuck had never been more scared of his life. Before, he was sure that Sarah and Casey would be following him wherever he was brought by the enemy. But now, there was no Sarah and Casey to watch his back.

_This sucks_.

* * *

NBC owns Chuck.


	2. Chapter 2

"Take off his veil," ordered someone. The black hood was removed from his head, and Chuck could finally breathe in fresh air. His eyes took time adjusting to the light, during which he had the time to examine the room where he was seated. It looked like what one would find in a Russian mansion.

He found himself staring at a man dressed in a neatly pressed suit. He was smoking a Russian Trud cigarette. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Bartowski," said the man. "I am Konstantin Ivanovich Klych."

"Constantine who?" And then the Intersect took over. _Name: Konstantin Ivanovich Klych. Age: 40. Birthday: June 10, 1971. Occupation: Businessman, arms dealer. Recently involved in massive shipments of arms to Chechnya and neighboring republics. ULTRANATIONALIST._

"You use a lot of names in your work, don't you, Mr. Bartowski?" asked Klych, opening the first in a pile of folders. "Let's see: Charles Broflovski of Tel Aviv, Israel; Carlo Bartolucci of Rome, Italy; Iosef Morozovsky of Ufa, Russia; Charlie Barretto of Caloocan City, Philippines; and, your current guise, Charles Carmichael of Burbank, California."

"Who are you?"

"Mr. Bartowski, if there is one thing in the world that I don't like; it is when people like you ask questions. I'm sure Lavrenty here would make that clear to you." He waved his hand in a lazy circle, and another man appeared, clutching a suppressed pistol, which he pressed into Chuck's neck.

"There's no need to do that, seriously," Chuck said.

"What Mr. Klych means is that you do not talk unless he wants you to," said Lavrenty, pressing his gun deeper into the flesh. "Are we clear on that?"

Chuck nodded. He didn't have a choice.

"Good, now that's the fun part is over, I would like you to take a look at this. Godfrey, the pictures, please?" Klych motioned for another man to enter. This one held a manila envelope in his hands, which he placed on Chuck's lap. "Open it, Mr. Bartowski," the Russian boss told the nerd-turned-spy.

He opened the envelope and pulled out what looked like a satellite picture. "Tell me, Mr. Bartowski, what is that thing in the middle?"

Once again, the Intersect opened up. Pictures from the Soviet-Afghan War flashed in his mind, along with a fully manned airfield. The words "Constant Supervision" appeared both in Russian and in English, and then the flash ended. Chuck blinked. Was what he had seen even possible?

"Where was this picture taken?" he asked. Timofeyenko pulled back his gun's hammer, but Klych held up his hand.

"Let the man talk, Lavrenty. As for you, Mr. Bartowski, that picture was taken in the Hindu Kush Mountains in Afghanistan."

"Mr. Klych, are you telling me that the Soviets built an airfield in Afghanistan?"

"No, Mr. Bartowski, _you_ told me that the Soviets built an airfield in Afghanistan. Now, take a look at the other picture inside. Tell me what you will see."

It was just a picture of two women, but suddenly the Intersect opened up again. He saw the names Carter Mason and Rosalinda Fiore, followed by the letters "PPP", and then pictures of the two women—Chuck assumed that they were Mason and Fiore—in various locales, from frozen Finland to paradise-like Palawan to arid Afghanistan. It ended with a video clip from the brief days of the Transcaucasian Federation showing the country's eventual defeat at the hands of the Red Army.

Chuck was surprised that he was still conscious after three near-consecutive flashes. Before, just one single flash taxed his whole body, leading to an unhealthy state after the flash. Now, thanks to the Governor, although he was breathing hard, it was as if he had never been suffering flashes.

"Anything of interest for me, Mr. Bartowski?" asked Klych.

"PPP," Chuck blurted out. Klych nodded. "Do any of you gentlemen know an organization named PPP?" he asked his henchmen.

"_Nyet_, Mr. Klych," replied Timofeyenko.

"I believe it's the Princess Protection Program, Mr. Klych" replied the man named Godfrey. "I've seen those two women during the botching of _Nerushimy_, _Bezzavetno_, and _Polkovnik_. They are the ones responsible for William and Tim's arrest, along with Zimyat and Kane's deaths."

"Are you serious?" said Chuck. "They barely look like eighteen."

"Shut up," said Timofeyenko. "I've seen them too, Mr. Klych. I'll think twice before trying to attack them. We've already lost some of our best men doing that."

"Godfrey, do bring Mr. Bartowski outside," ordered Klych. "He's heard too much."

"With pleasure, Mr. Klych." Godfrey then lifted Chuck from his seat and brought his put of Klych's dacha. He recognized the Yekaterinburg skyline on the horizon.

"Is this where you're going to kill me, Godfrey?" he asked his escort.

"Are you kidding, Mr. Bartowski? If Mr. Klych had wanted to kill you, you would already be dead."

"Why _did_ he let me live?"

"That brain of yours," replied the man matter-of-factly. "He wants to milk every ounce of information from everything that is in your brain."

"What?" Chuck asked incredulously. "Are you telling me that that man wants to know everything that is in the Intersect? And another thing: how did he know about the Intersect? I thought this was very top secret American spy stuff."

"Ha!" Godfrey snorted. "As if you didn't know. The Americans and the Soviets were always trying to steal each other's technology. They even have their own version of this…Intersect of yours, but the Politburo, before it totally and finally collapsed, refused to go forward with it as other, "more reputable" scientists claimed that this Intersect was too dangerous for any one man to behold."

"Why are you telling me this? Aren't you afraid of some sort of retribution?"

Godfrey sighed. "To tell you the truth, Mr. Bartowski, even if Mr. Klych wanted to strike out at me, there wouldn't be anyone for him to strike, you see, because I have no family."

Chuck's eyebrows rose. "I'm sorry…"

"It's not what you think it is. You see, I was once a well-known writer in my country. Unfortunately, my works were very critical of the present government, and naturally, they didn't want that. So what I did was cut off all my ties to my family, take my pile, and go on the run. I wound up in a lot of places before I came under the employ of Mr. Klych. But it's okay. Once you help me get rid of the criminal scum that is Konstantin Klych, I might be able to settle right here in Russia. Or if you want, we can take care of those in the present government that lead my country to its downfall and destruction."

"No, I'm all fine with just bringing this Klych fellow down. By the way, call me Chuck. I don't like the sound of Mr. Bartowski, to tell you the truth. One more question, though: how can I be sure that I can trust you?"

"Don't I look trustworthy enough for you, Chuck?" asked Godfrey, spreading his arms in a display of openness. "Just kidding. Now," Godfrey reached into his greatcoat and retrieved an envelope, "here is a one-way ticket to Kabul. Find a place to stay—go to the American Embassy there if you want, but I wouldn't recommend it—and then go to the Krakozhian Embassy and look for Carter and Rosie."

"Carter and Rosie?" asked Chuck. "Why is there something familiar about those names?"

"Have you forgotten? They were the women that you saw in the pictures that Klych wanted you to identify."

"How come you know them?"

"I talked to them a few days before Klych called me here to his frozen domain. I told them everything there is to know about the man and gave them my plan of taking him down. Of course, I had to tell them about my sad fate before they decided that they believed me."

"Okay, so I've made contact with them. How are they going to trust me?"

"Just tell them that you're a friend of Godfrey. They'll understand."

Chuck nodded. "So what am I supposed to do now?" he asked.

"Your flight to Kabul leaves in about thirty minutes. That's just enough time to get from here to the airport. I suggest you get going now."

"Well, thanks for getting me out, Godfrey."

"The pleasure's mine, Chuck. You are free to go." As Chuck began to walk away, Godfrey began thinking of ways to procure a body that he can present to Klych and his lapdog Timofeyenko so that he can prove that he had "taken care" of Bartowski. _What a sad, sad world that I'm living in_, he thought before turning around to return to the dacha.


End file.
